Here and Now
by Minerva Solo
Summary: Here is a pairing you don't see often enough: BradKen. Well, i couldn't really see Schuldig going to the gym on a regular basis


Here and Now  
  
*Disclaimers: not my characters, but you can blame my brain for the warped plot. And the fact it's a BradKen. There's not many of those around. Yeah, I don't really know the names of a lot of Gym equipment, despite being a member of one. Perhaps I don't know the names because I'm a member of a gym. See what I mean about warped? Warnings: (I keep forgetting to do these, though not as often as I forget the disclaimers) Shounen ai, yaoi, probable OOC (Ken swings from incredibly stupid to really quite perceptive in a matter of paragraphs and brad gets kinda sappy towards the end), language, sap, fluff, angst. No sequel though. *  
  
Ken liked the bench press. He was perhaps the only person he knew who really did. Everyone else saw it as a chore, but Ken enjoyed it. Blame it on the endorphins. Speaking of endorphins, the weights room ought to be free, so he'd head there next.  
  
He'd tried bringing Yohji here once, but as Yohji put it: "I see enough sweaty half naked guys in my clubs, why would I want to come here? I'm already as handsome as any man could possibly be." And Ken, realising that he'd probably go mad listening to Yohji an extra five hours a week, left it at that.  
  
He'd thought Omi would like to come, but the kid blushed and stuttered and made excuses about homework. Ken figured it was the showers. If he hadn't spent most of puberty being forced to use communal showers he'd be pretty reluctant to go and parade his parts in front of a great many older men.  
  
He'd thought about asking Aya, but he wasn't suicidal.  
  
So Ken came alone. He liked it, really. No one to notice he was sneaking glances at strange men. Not that he did! Of course he didn't. Never dreamt of it. Well, maybe dreamt of it.  
  
Ken stepped into the mirrored weights room. He liked it. He felt like an utter anomaly, but he quite liked the mirrors. He looked pretty good. And he was high on endorphins. His chest rippled as he picked up some of the dumbbells and he watched himself in the mirror. So what was a little vanity here and there? He could also watch the other men surreptitiously.  
  
One man caught his eye. Ken realised he hadn't seen him here for well over a year. A tall geijin with brown eyes and glasses. A tall geijin who completely reminded him of Oracle. And a really nice chest. But still very much like Oracle. But also incredibly attractive.  
  
"Siberian?"  
  
So much like Oracle he even knew Ken's code name. Suddenly much less attractive.  
  
Ken looked at the dumbbell in his hand, looked at Oracle's reflection and narrowed his eyes. He hefted it, letting his shoulder slip forwards, bending his elbow until his wrist reached his shoulder and.  
  
"Please, don't be so immature."  
  
Ken dropped the weight on his foot. Oracle's mouth twitched. Ken hopped about yelping, earning glares from, well, from his reflections. They were the only men in the room. But Ken's reflections looked as angry as Ken felt.  
  
"What are you doing here? Didn't you used to come here? You stopped coming here, why? Why did you come back?" Ken spat the phrases at his companion.  
  
"I 'saw' I would oppose you as Schwarz, so I stopped coming. I actually have my own gym, thanks to Takatori, but Mastermind and Berserker managed to destroy it. I really don't want to know how."  
  
"How?"  
  
"-" Crawford stared at him. Was this guy really quite that stupid? Crawford caught the weights Ken threw at him. Apparently so. "I know what you're going to do before you do," Crawford pointed out. Month before Ken did, it seemed, if not eternity. "It's really quite pointless trying to hurt me. Have I tried to kill you yet?"  
  
Ken paused, and thought about it. "Not as far as I know," he said cautiously, "but that's not to say you haven't."  
  
"I'm not giving up on the gym solely because you come here," Crawford said bluntly. "So, until my private equipment is fixed I'm going to come here. You don't have to come."  
  
"Some of us can't afford our own private gyms," Ken scowled. "I'm not going to stop coming either. I like this place."  
  
"Because you can stare at barely dressed men without your teammates commenting?" Crawford said acidly.  
  
Ken flushed. "Because I like to work out," he maintained.  
  
"So, we're both unwilling to give up any gym time."  
  
"Damn right!"  
  
"What's your schedule?" Crawford walked over to a bench and picked up a notebook and pen.  
  
"You think I'm going to tell you?" Ken stared at him. "So you can organise an attack? Catch me with my guards down? Attack the others while I'm not there?"  
  
"Avoid running into you and suffering through mindless conversations like this one?" Crawford snapped. "I'm not here to make your life difficult Hidaka. I personally feel it would be better for all involved if we just avoided each other. We are in a place full of innocents."  
  
"Yeah, like Schwarz care about that," Ken growled.  
  
"Don't." Crawford warned.  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"Don't get all high and mighty on me. Your childish idealism is frankly sickening and your hypocritical moral superiority is idiotic."  
  
Ken stared. Should he mention he had little to no idea what the older man just said? Better not. "I'm not going to tell you when I come here," he said smoothly. "It would be unprofessional."  
  
Crawford subsided. "I suppose so. But let's agree, no fighting here?"  
  
"Are you armed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you usually arm yourself to visit the gym?"  
  
"No. That's both pointless and stupid."  
  
"So what would we fight with, considering I clearly do not have my bugnuks with me?"  
  
"I used to be a boxer." Ken frowned. That was news to him.  
  
"And I a soccer player. Look, no fighting, ne?"  
  
"As I suggested."  
  
"As you suggested."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Fine."  
  
They stood there in silence. Neither willing to turn their back, neither willing to pick anything up, neither willing to leave first. Eventually, when another person entered the small room, Brad left sharply. Ken sighed and started to stretch to warm up again so he could continue working out.  
  
* * *  
  
Ken had just finished showering the next time he Crawford graced his presence. Ken guessed, correctly, that the older man was using his powers to avoid Ken as much as possible. He felt vaguely flattered, that the great and mighty Oracle was avoiding him.  
  
Ken was attacking his hair with a towel when Crawford approached him.  
  
"May I borrow that when you're done?" the American enquired politely. Ken was so shocked he dropped it. A slim hand shot out a snatched it a few inches from the ground. "Thank you," he said, and left. Ken was left staring at a dripping-wet back, a small towel all that separated Ken's eyes from a feast of nudity. He stared at his blushing face in a mirror in the locker. Lusting after your enemy was not a good way to start the week.  
  
* * *  
  
It was Friday, and Ken was watching a television screen in the lobby of the gym, lamenting his lack of towel as wet hair sent damp rivulets down his back and under his t-shirt. It was a boxing match he was engrossed in, so engrossed he didn't notice Crawford's presence until the man tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"Your towel," Crawford held it out.  
  
"Arigatou, (sp?)" Ken nodded his thanks, not taking his eyes from the television screen, despite the fact his neck was beginning to hurt.  
  
Crawford hovered for a moment, fighting a sensation of disappointment. He couldn't pin down why he seemed to have expected more from the Japanese man, but this lack of reaction hurt a little. He eventually settled on wounded pride and being used to more respect in general life. The fact he rarely commanded more respect, at least from two out of his three teammates, managed to conveniently pass him by.  
  
Crawford turned to go when Ken spoke again. "I've been watching a lot of boxing recently," the young man commented suddenly. "It's a very interesting sport, though I'm having a little difficulty grasping all of the rules."  
  
Crawford hovered on one foot, half way through a step. To stay and explain the complexities of the sport to the young man, or to turn his back as he ought to. He sighed.  
  
"It begins with the bell."  
  
It was nice to have someone who actually listened to him for once, and Crawford found he could put up with the interruptions quite easily. The questions were considerably more intelligent than he had expected from the younger assassin.  
  
They wandered towards the car park as they talked, engrossed in the minutiae of the sport. Ken raised his fists, and Crawford corrected his stance. The broad shouldered young man would have made a natural boxer, in Crawford's opinion. Certainly, years of practice with his bugnuks had left him with a well-developed upper body and the ability to punch hard enough to knock someone out with one blow.  
  
Ken stopped sharply and Crawford almost overshot. "This is my bike," Ken explained.  
  
"I see. You've modified it?" Crawford tried to continue a conversation as he analysed his feelings towards the young man. He was coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that they were feelings best left alone, as was Ken.  
  
"Yeah. It's a hobby." Ken gave him a sheepish grin and stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for his keys.  
  
"What's that, on the brakes?" Crawford's eyes picked out a slender grey box. His gift warned him of impending doom.  
  
"I haven't done anything to the brakes," Ken said with some concern. He bent down. "Shit," he moaned.  
  
"A bomb." It wasn't a question.  
  
Ken nodded, concentrating on removing the casing. He stared in dismay at the multitude of wires inside, as well as a small glob of what he took to be the explosive material.  
  
"As soon as you applied the brakes, that thing would go off."  
  
"Yeah, taking out a fair few people with me." Ken's eyes hardened and he turned to stare at Crawford. He stood slowly and pushed up one sleeve.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Crawford snapped. "Would I have pointed it out if I planted it?" His eyes fluttered. "Damn. There's one on my car too." Ken stared at him.  
  
"Why would someone plant one on both of us? That doesn't make sense." Crawford bent down, not answering, by the tiny mechanism.  
  
"It's on a timer," he said quietly.  
  
"My fingers are too big to do anything," Ken admitted, staring at his hands. Crawford glanced at them too. Ken was right. They were large hands to start with, and calloused on the palms and fingers after years of being in goal, catching heavy soccer balls, the tips of his fingers rough with handling flowers all day. They weren't fingers that could disarm a bomb like this. Crawford wondered briefly, very briefly, what it would be like to be touched by those hands.  
  
"I can do it. Go to my car and see if you can locate the bomb on there," Crawford ordered. Ken nodded and started across the car park. Crawford raised his head. "That way, black BMW," he called out to the young man, pointing in the opposite direction. Ken flashed him a grin and set off at a jog the other way.  
  
Crawford's nimble fingers searched through the myriad of trip wires and timer wires, trying to locate the one that would disarm the bomb. It wasn't a matter of green or red here, all the wires were grey, making them hard to distinguish from each other and blur together in the deepening twilight. He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Why was he doing this anyway? Ken was an enemy, a Weiss boy. Sure, they needed Weiss alive, but if any were expendable, it was Ken.  
  
As the moments ticked by, Crawford found himself more and more distracted from his task. Brown eyes swam in front of his own, trusting brown eyes. A smile to light cities beamed at his. A smile he could have the power to switch on and off, if he took a chance.  
  
And if the owner of the smile wasn't blown to bits because he picked the wrong wire. And if he wasn't either, hopefully. Crawford sighed, wiped his forehead and squinted in the failing light. There, that one. Probably. Crawford was swimming in uncertainty more often than his team gave him credit for, but he refused to let himself drown as so many did. He pulled the wire.  
  
There was a loud boom. Crawford flinched and covered his head. A steering wheel hit the ground next to him. He watched it roll away. Other bits of flaming debris hit the ground. Smoke coated the car park like a low lying smog, making his cough and choke.  
  
His car. It was reasonable to presume both of the bombs were on the same timer. The closeness of death frightened Crawford, a little. He hadn't been aware of it. He'd been so wrapped up in angsting over Hidaka Ken he hadn't been aware he'd come so close to dying.  
  
He stood up, peering through the thinning smoke. There was no sign of the young man who had temporarily distracted him so much.  
  
Well, it was probably for the best. Crawford began to walk home.  
  
* * *  
  
Ken collapsed over his bike, choking. He was burned, but not badly. He'd been on his way back when it went, and ducked behind a car. The force of the explosion had overturned the vehicle, pinning Ken to the tarmac for several minutes until he managed to wrestle the automobile off of him. His chest and legs hurt like hell.  
  
There was no sign of the American. Ken presumed he'd lived, what with knowing what was about to happen and all. He bent and checked the bike. It had been a ruse, clearly. Crawford ad known Ken would agree to check his car once Crawford had convinced him he hadn't planted the bomb, and rather than die on his own bike, he'd die near Crawford's car. And if that didn't work, which it hadn't he'd die on his won bike.  
  
Ken studied the bob. One of the wires had been pulled out. As far as he could tell, it had been disarmed. Kritiker had been very thorough in their training, especially in that area. Ken's burns began to hurt as the shock wore off. He swallowed. It was nothing like... but then.  
  
He wrenched his thoughts from that subject, and went back to thinking about his betrayal by Crawford. He frowned. He'd actually trusted that guy, that enemy, that Schwarz bastard. And he'd been betrayed. Again. This was beginning to get predictable.  
  
He sighed, decided the bike probably wasn't safe to ride, and began to long walk home, determining to get Kritiker to pick it up and check it over.  
  
A blue haired girl giggled, holding a stuffed rabbit. That had been fun, getting the car of nasty Crawford-san who didn't want her Nagi to see her, and the annoying Weiss boy who'd upset her friend so much. Tot held the stuffed toy up to survey the damage Hel's bombs had done.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a while before Ken reappeared at the gym, almost long enough for Crawford to believe he really was dead. They saw each other a few times in the mean time, though, so that hypothesis was quickly ruled out. Schuldig approached the older man with a grin.  
  
"The gym eh? All that sweat and rippling muscles and naked showering?" The German smirked obscenely.  
  
"If you and Farfarello had left my things well enough alone, I wouldn't even be going there," Crawford growled.  
  
"Aren't you glad we broke your toys? You get to see Siberian five times a week. What did you do to upset him so, say something tactless to your loverboy?"  
  
"Someone planted bombs on both my car and his bike. He blames this on me."  
  
Schuldig frowned. "Why would you plant a bomb on your own car? And why did you get a new one that was exactly identical to it? Live a little, Brad, buy, I don't know, a racing green Jaguar. You could stick it full of missiles and pretend to be a Bond villain."  
  
"Very droll, Schuldig. Where exactly are you going with this?"  
  
"If any one knows, it's you," Schuldig lolled against the wall. "Perhaps, a little good advice. I've fooled with Weiss before. Look before you leap. Ken doesn't forgive those who hurt him in a hurry, and being betrayed yet again is killing the kid."  
  
"I didn't betray him. Someone else planted the bombs," Crawford glowered at Schuldig.  
  
"Ja ja," Schuldig sighed a turned to go. He paused in the doorway. "The feeling is mutual," he told Crawford. "The confusion and longing? Mutual. He hasn't told Kritiker he meets you from time to time at that accursed place. Hasn't told them you were there, and he thinks it was you who planted the bomb." And with that, Schuldig left. Crawford stood silently for a moment, closed and locked the door, and then let his legs give way. How had this gotten so complicated so quickly?  
  
* * *  
  
Ken hit him squarely in the jaw. Well, he would have, but being able to see the future has several perks, and being able to get out of the way in time is one of them. Crawford held Ken's wrist tightly.  
  
"You want to fight?"  
  
"I want to kill you."  
  
Crawford nodded like he understood. "They have several rings here," he told the enraged Hidaka Ken.  
  
"What?" Ken blustered.  
  
"For fighting. We can't kill each other, but we can beet the shit out of each other without causing an eyebrow to be raised."  
  
Ken considered this. Right now, he really really wanted to make Crawford howl. Put him in pain. He realised he didn't actually want to kill him. That would be far too quick.  
  
"Lead the way," he snarled.  
  
They entered the small room with faded walls. It wasn't really a ring, but instead designed to be used when teaching martial arts one on one. The floor was soft and springy, the walls slightly padded. A camera was set high in the wall.  
  
"How about." Crawford took off his shirt, "first to draw blood?"  
  
Ken similarly disrobed. "Fine with me."  
  
Crawford ducked before Ken even began to move, and his fist slammed into the wall. His elbow jerked backwards and hit Crawford's chest. Crawford moved with the blow and swung a punch towards Ken's nose. Ken dropped his head and slammed his shoulder into Crawford's gut, sending them both sprawling to the floor.  
  
Crawford put his hands together and brought them down simultaneously on Ken's head. There was a sharp clack as Ken's jaw slammed shut, but fortunately he managed to keep is tongue out of the way. Ken's eyes began to mist red as rage coursed through his adrenaline full veins. He smashed his hip into Crawford's crotch and pressed his thumbs to the older man's throat.  
  
Crawford gasped for air, struggling to rid himself of Ken's vice like grip. He couldn't even swallow as e made a decision that would have required a gulp in a normal situation. He jerked his knee up, straight into Ken's genitals. The younger men let him go with a howl.  
  
While Ken was still moaning Crawford pressed his advantage, using his years as a boxer to get several sharp punches in. His gift forgotten, he slammed his fist towards Ken face and missed as the assassin jerked out of the way. Ken took advantage of the momentary loss of balance this overestimation caused and sent Crawford tumbling back, face fist, to the floor.  
  
Ken mounted the American's back and bent his arm up, eliciting a shriek of pain. Crawford struggled to roll over, but Ken was too heavy. Instead, he dug his nails into Ken's wrist, hoping to draw blood. The carefully manicured nails failed to provided the desired effect, but did cause Ken to loosen his hold. Crawford wrenched his arm upwards, hitting Ken under the chin.  
  
Ken's head jerked backwards and Crawford heaved up with his back. Ken toppled to the ground and Crawford rolled over ad tried to get up. Ken shoved a leg between his two and Crawford tumbled back to the mat, on top of Ken. He winded the younger man, and decided to use this by pressing down on his chest hard enough to prevent his from getting another breath. Ken gasped desperately, clawing at Crawford with his hands and kneeing him in the back, hoping to make him topple over his head.  
  
Crawford smirked. He had one. He bent forwards delicately and fastened his teeth on Ken's neck. Ken jammed his knee into Crawford's back especially hard and the old man accidentally head butted him. Crawford jerked back upright and noted with smug glee that blood marked Ken's chest.  
  
The smirk faded rapidly, however. There were teethmarks by Ken's neck, but he hadn't broken the skin. So the blood must belong to.  
  
Both men stared at the scratches along Crawford's front. Unlike the American, Ken's nails were long and jagged. A thin trickle, already dried up, marked the end of the match from Crawford's collar bone to his nipple.  
  
It felt wrong. To both of them it felt like it shouldn't have happened. Crawford was a team leader, he was the head of Schwarz, he was a boxer, he was Oracle. Ken was just Hidaka Ken, ex soccer player and the guy with the bugnuks.  
  
Crawford stood up slowly and offered his hand. Ken grasped it and Crawford pulled him up. "Well done," he said in a strained tone.  
  
"You too. Good match." Ken hated the sound of his own voice, let alone the phoney words. It wasn't a good match. He'd gone in wanting to inflict as much pain on the man as possible, and he'd come out the winner. They shook hands like Westerners, but Ken was strangely unwilling to let go. Crawford seemed to feel the same way.  
  
Crawford's mind was a mess. Ken had made him abandon his gift yet again, Ken had beaten him. Ken had power over him. This wasn't right. It wasn't right!  
  
Crawford pulled on Ken's hand, causing the younger man to stumble into his arms. He vehemently kissed him, forcing Ken's lips apart with his tongue and claiming the warm recesses of the Japanese man's mouth for his own. One arm gripped Ken's shoulders, rendering him immobile, as the kiss deepened. Ken responded with equal vigour, letting Crawford control their actions but not limiting himself to reaction. The bite at his neck throbbed in time with his racing heart.  
  
Eventually, they had to pull apart, both gasping for air. Ken stepped back, breathing deeply. His eyes were dark and shadowed as he stared at Crawford. Crawford, for his part, was equally upset. Yes, he'd re-established control, and yes, he now had considerable power of Ken, but at what cost?  
  
"Let go," Ken growled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let go... of my hand," Ken added as Crawford still stared at him in confusion. Crawford dropped the sweaty palm, which he'd held throughout the kiss. Ken stared at him, fire burning deep in his eyes. He picked up his shirt and left, not even glancing back and the stunned American.  
  
* * *  
  
"He's not a bad catch, you know."  
  
"Shut up, Schuldig."  
  
"You could do a lot worse."  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Schuldig."  
  
"You know, he was going to bring you a cereal bar."  
  
"Would you fucking shut- What?"  
  
"For saving his life. It would have been chocolates, but he figured anyone who spent that long in the gym probably wouldn't want chocolate, so he was going to give you a granola bar. Then he figured you'd actually tried to kill him, and changed his mind."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Seriously, He's-"  
  
"Shut up, Schuldig."  
  
* * *  
  
"Is that a hickey?"  
  
"Shut up, Yotan."  
  
"No seriously, is that a love bite? You got someone we don't know about, Kenken?"  
  
"Shut up, Yohji."  
  
"Some chick at the gym, huh? Must be pretty feisty. I saw how worked up you were the other night. What's her name? Is she hot? Knew you'd go for the sporty type. She got any friends?"  
  
"Fuck off, Yohji."  
  
"No need to be rude."  
  
* * *  
  
Ken plodded along on the running machine. He'd run flat out for over an hour, but that hadn't distracted him, and eventually one of the Gym assisstants had come over to tell him the machine was beginning to overheat. So now he had it at walking pass, a walkman over his ears and his eyes closed.  
  
He didn't even know why he had come back. It would have made more sense to go for a jog around the park, or a run along the seafront. But no, he'd come to the gym because he'd been afraid if he went out in public he'd run into Crawford.  
  
Even Ken could see the problem with that logic.  
  
So could Crawford, who had abandoned his rebuilt private gym to come here. He could see Ken, but he didn't want Ken to see him. So he sat on a rowing machine barely five feet from the younger man and prayed fervently he didn't open his eyes.  
  
"I know you're there," Ken said eventually, turning his head to check it was who he thought it was.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Crawford sighed.  
  
"Utterly."  
  
"We ought to talk."  
  
"I'm not much of a conversationalist."  
  
"No, didn't think so. How about we meet out front, half an hour?"  
  
"Time to think," Crawford acknowledged.  
  
"Yes."  
  
* * *  
  
Ken was sitting on a bench outside, elbow on his knees and head bowed. Crawford sat down next to him.  
  
"You're the oracle," Ken began. "How's this going to turn out?"  
  
"'Even the wise cannot see all ends'," Crawford quoted. Ken gave him a quizzical look. "I don't have the faintest bloody idea."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"It's a stupid idea. It shouldn't work."  
  
"But it might, that's what you're saying."  
  
"I suppose I am."  
  
"You should be the politician, not Takatori," Ken commented. A smile flickered across Crawford's face. "You didn't plant those bombs, did you?"  
  
"No. If it means anything, I'm glad you didn't die."  
  
"So am I," Ken grinned. He leant back, resting his arms along the back of the bench. "How well do we really know each other, do you suppose?"  
  
"You mean, is this just lust?" Crawford turned to study Ken's lean form. Yes, lust was certainly a large part of it. But those who walk on the line between life and death every day of their lives learn to judge a little faster than most, and learn to love in a split second. When every hour maybe your last, the differences between like and love are blurred. Lust could tip the balance.  
  
"I mean, is it worth the risk?" Ken reached out and took Crawford's glasses from his face.  
  
"You'll become a much greater target. Schuldig already knows most of what's going on. You need to learn to shield better." Crawford watched the young man intensely. Part of him prayed Ken would be put off, the other part desperately hoped he wouldn't.  
  
"Yeah. It's not part of standard Kritiker training, you know, dealing with Psychic assassins. Though it probably soon will be." Ken smirked playfully. "Schuldig would go for me more, then?"  
  
"He doesn't like me. I don't approve of what goes on between him and Farfarello, I don't approve of his drugs, I don't approve of him. Anything he can do to get back at me, he will. I control his life. He'll try to control yours."  
  
Ken sighed. "Like most of the world then." Crawford tilted his head and brushed his fingers against Ken's cheek. He wasn't surprised to find it damp, despite not being able to see the tears without his glasses. "I was in an orphanage, you knew that? Controlled by adults who didn't give a damn about me. In J-league, controlled by my manager, manipulated by Kase. In Weiss, Kritiker control me. They say whether I live or die. I can't leave. So Schuldig? What difference will it make?"  
  
"Don't say that," Crawford told him sternly. "It's still your life. And Schuldig will control you in ways Kritker, or Kase, or anyone else ever could. He can control your thoughts."  
  
"Well, I can't, so maybe that's a blessing."  
  
"Stop trying to make light of this!" Crawford snapped. "I'm serious!"  
  
"So am I, to an extent." Ken sighed. He moved closer to Crawford, pressing against his side. Crawford found himself wrapping his arms around the younger man. "You're keeping us alive, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I won't pry."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What happens when you no longer need us alive?" Well, he wasn't going to pry about the exact circumstances anyway.  
  
"I don't know. We'll probably leave."  
  
"Liar. You'll kill us." Crawford flinched.  
  
"I don't think that will be up to us. You'll die anyway. There's a fair chance we will too." He said candidly.  
  
"You're going to try and stop that, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Which is why you need us alive."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Who gives a damn about the future anyway?"  
  
"What?" Crawford turned his head awkwardly to stare at Ken's large eyes.  
  
"We have now. There's no guarantee we'll get tomorrow. If we don't kill each other, someone else will." Ken kissed Crawford, gently. "We're assassins, not insurance brokers. Let them worry about what might or might not happen." Crawford smiled at him, fingers slowly sneaking up Ken's back, under his loose shirt.  
  
"When I'm thinking of you," Crawford admitted, "I forget about my gift. I'm not troubled by visions, and I don't look for them."  
  
"So it's just the here and now?"  
  
"Just the here and now."  
  
And Crawford gave in to the longings of the 'here and now', letting his body tell his mind what to do. He'd never felt that sort of abandon, letting the future tend to itself while he enjoyed himself. Ken was more than adequate to keep his worries at bay. Later, there'd be trouble, but Kritiker and Estet could go to hell. They didn't care who saw, what they might do. This was about the moment, and about them. Later was later. Be it lust, love, or merely a mutual escape from controlling and being controlled, they fucked on the bench outside the gym.  
  
*I like the ending for this one. It goes all sappy and romantic, then suddenly it's back down to earth with a thump. Probably a bit too sappy, especially for Brad to be any kind of IC, but I felt the reasoning kinda made sense. ^_^ Sorry about the random Tot, I finished then realised I'd never explained who'd planted the bombs in the first place. * 


End file.
